So my Firefox browser window suddenly closes of its own accord.
l am then presented a message that says, "Firefox has unexpectedly quit."
Really, no shit? Thank you. Now l can sleep at night.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
l don't get it.
"Ohhhh, lllll wish l were an Oscar Meyer weiner, that is what l'd really like to beeeeeeeee..."
Am l the only one who finds this truly disturbing? Who in their right mind wants to be a goddamn hot dog? Now, "l wish l HAD an Oscar Meyer weiner", sure, l can get on board with that. But to BE one? l'm amazed this theme's lasted so long. That's just years of therapy in the making.
Am l the only one who finds this truly disturbing? Who in their right mind wants to be a goddamn hot dog? Now, "l wish l HAD an Oscar Meyer weiner", sure, l can get on board with that. But to BE one? l'm amazed this theme's lasted so long. That's just years of therapy in the making.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
l miss Kenya.
l watched Hotel Rwanda the other night. My mother was there on business during that time, or part of it anyway...
l love being a dating coach. l love, love, love helping people find happiness.
l grew up with my parents, with these inspiring humanitarians. l decided at a young age that my particular field was elsewhere.
l saw my home in that movie.
l saw my place in that movie.
l saw my heart in that movie.
lt may be time to start thinking about how to get back, and rethinking how l get there.
l love being a dating coach. l love, love, love helping people find happiness.
l grew up with my parents, with these inspiring humanitarians. l decided at a young age that my particular field was elsewhere.
l saw my home in that movie.
l saw my place in that movie.
l saw my heart in that movie.
lt may be time to start thinking about how to get back, and rethinking how l get there.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
l found my new mantra last night
l'm very happy with it. "l'm a big fat pain in my own ass, and l need to get out of my way." l think this is nifty, and works quite well for me in light of my general recent emotional and mental insanity. Some of you got the text message l sent out last night about this. Now l will tell you the story of why and how it came to be. Don't worry, it's pretty clear fairly quickly, so this'll be brief.
Last night, l went to the bar with the intent of hanging out and having a hot toddy and writing in my journal. l saw a girl there that l've seen around, but never much talked to. She's pretty young, gotta be just barely twenty one. High, sort of manic energy, typical of a young woman her age. She was there with her boyfriend. At some point, we all started playing pool. Her man bought me a Guiness, same thing they were drinking. At some point during the game, he apparently took sips from the wrong beer, and she went OFF. l mean, literally took his beer and POURED SOME OF IT BACK INTO MINE AND HER GLASSES since she couldn't figure out whose beer it was he drank from. Who could and who cared? We all had about the same amount. She sat there for TEN FREAKING MINUTES yelling at him about drinking other people's beer, during which time l was piping up with stuff like "Really, l don't have cooties, and don't care about getting a few", and "Girl, it's OHHHHKAY, plenty more beer in those taps behind the bar", to which she's responding, "Yeah, l KNOW, but that's not the point.". l was just DYING to go, "Yes, yes, your point is that you want to throw a fit over something reeeeallly fucking stupid and selfishly ruin your boyfriend's night", but of course, l didn't. At one point she had her back to me, and he looked over her shoulder at me like a poor cornered animal and l shrugged and gave him a look that went 'YOU picked her, dude.", and let her ramble while l kicked both their asses at Cutthroat. <G>
My life could be SO much worse right now. l could be dumb enough to date that girl. l could *be* that girl. But, like me (though for different reasons), she's a big fat pain in her own ass and needs to get out of her own way.
And that's how l came up with my mantra. Plus, laughing at yourself is never a bad thing.
Last night, l went to the bar with the intent of hanging out and having a hot toddy and writing in my journal. l saw a girl there that l've seen around, but never much talked to. She's pretty young, gotta be just barely twenty one. High, sort of manic energy, typical of a young woman her age. She was there with her boyfriend. At some point, we all started playing pool. Her man bought me a Guiness, same thing they were drinking. At some point during the game, he apparently took sips from the wrong beer, and she went OFF. l mean, literally took his beer and POURED SOME OF IT BACK INTO MINE AND HER GLASSES since she couldn't figure out whose beer it was he drank from. Who could and who cared? We all had about the same amount. She sat there for TEN FREAKING MINUTES yelling at him about drinking other people's beer, during which time l was piping up with stuff like "Really, l don't have cooties, and don't care about getting a few", and "Girl, it's OHHHHKAY, plenty more beer in those taps behind the bar", to which she's responding, "Yeah, l KNOW, but that's not the point.". l was just DYING to go, "Yes, yes, your point is that you want to throw a fit over something reeeeallly fucking stupid and selfishly ruin your boyfriend's night", but of course, l didn't. At one point she had her back to me, and he looked over her shoulder at me like a poor cornered animal and l shrugged and gave him a look that went 'YOU picked her, dude.", and let her ramble while l kicked both their asses at Cutthroat. <G>
My life could be SO much worse right now. l could be dumb enough to date that girl. l could *be* that girl. But, like me (though for different reasons), she's a big fat pain in her own ass and needs to get out of her own way.
And that's how l came up with my mantra. Plus, laughing at yourself is never a bad thing.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Grrrreeeeaaat
So l get this text message."9000 people are having sex right now, 2000 are kissing, 100 are fucking, and one lonely motherfucker is reading this message."
Guess who the one is.
Grr.
Guess who the one is.
Grr.
Tuesday, October 3, 2006
Excerpts from a wise woman
This is an excerpt from the memoirs of my mother's l mention in one of my blogs. lt's something l feel comfortable sharing, and it has a sort of general, universal quality to it in that l think we can all see ourselves in her words somewhere. lt's given me a lot to think on, and is only one of many things that make me proud to be her daughter, and lucky to have her as a mother.
The lmportant Lessons
lt's really hard to write down lessons that don't sound like shallow platitudes ----- like "Friends are the most important thing in life" ---- ugh...So l'll try to be explicit about why the following insights are real, practical guides to my actions versus good ideas l plucked out of the air. They were born out of experience and were usually learned the hard way. They influence what l do in many ways.
1. We have been given enormous freedom --- often more than we want. lt's sometimes tempting to give away my freedom to decide, act, or assume responsibility to circumstances beyond my control or a spouse or social norms or friends or liquor and drugs or physical/psychological limitations. But at the end of the day, l have to live with myself and with my decisions. l have to acknowledge that they were freely made, some for the right reasons, and some not. l believe the Garden of Eden story is mainly about freedom ---- Adam and Eve were give utter freedom to fuck up. God said "Don't", and they did. Or maybe they were simply presented with a set of options, and they chose the wrong one. Whatever, our lives continue to one long challenge not to follow their example, though of course we do. ln my own life, the deep need for approval has led me to stay in some situations that l really should have gotten out of earlier. There were logical excuses for my decisions, but the truth is that it usually boiled down to being too chicken to suffer the consequences of freedom. Growing old makes these choices a little easier since you have less and less to lose.
2. l'm not responsible FOR any other adult, for how they live, the choices they make, their happiness, the lifestyle they adopt, their weaknesses or strengths. l can help people, walk by their sides, try to enable them or have a positive influence on them. l can confront them with "reality". l can help them develop alternatives. But that's about it. Obviously children are in a separate category. By having them, we become responsible for them up to a certain age, and that responsibility includes loving, protecting, being kind, teaching, counseling, directing, feeding, clothing, nurturing, and so on. l only did a moderate job providing all those things, but it wasn't because l didn't understand them as my role. There were several years during which l thought of myself as a "healer". Then one day, the arrogance and illusion of that archetype hit me. l can't "heal" anyone. Real healing comes from within, from a decision to heal oneself and taking subsequent actions that lead to health. My responsibility begins and ends with supporting and assisting that journey in any way l can. That realization reduced a lot of stress in my life.
3. To have friends, you first have to decide what kind of friend you're going to be. Mara made a remark one day that has stuck with me, namely that there are two kinds of friends --- those who call and ask you to lunch and those who wait to be called. She said she was the latter. Most of my best friends are the latter. l am the former. l initiate friendships and work to nurture them. l try to be low-maintenance in all relationships ---- from Andrew to mere acquaintances. l try to be a good listener, because ultimately all anyone really wants is to be listened to, respected and taken seriously. Being this kind of friend has paid off in having wonderful people whom l love and vice versa. This doesn't mean l'm never disappointed. Friends sometimes don't reciprocate or support me like l wish they would. When l was recently very sick as well as when l broke my foot, only two of my friends here in Costa Rica called, no one came by, and the woman l consider my best friend never once called to check on me. Another person whom l count on for counself and affection was oblivious to a crisis l was experiencing because she had a trying situation of her own. So shit happens. lt helps to realize that l've also let others down, to know that they don't intend hurt and to simply practice forgiveness.
4. lt has never hurt me to face my fear or to face the fear l see in others. This doesn't mean it's easy to do either one. lt just means that asking the lion that's chasing you what he wants leads to insight and understanding, not death. lt leads to liberation. Fear is bondage, and breaking through your fear opens new vistas. There was a time in Andrew's and my courtship where l was going to break up with him. l was afraid of having my heart broken and l didn't think l could stand it. When l finally talked to the fear and asked what the worst was that could happen, two things got clear: one, my fear could and would kill the relationship if l didn't deal with it, and two, l could survive a broken heart a helluva lot better than l could survive being a coward. Fear of the truth in a relationship or sitting on anger, resentment or hurt is extremely damaging. Deciding to open up and how, when, and where to do so, is an art. l've been a lot more honest in recent years, and l'm still alive.
5. Nothing can rob me of my selfhood. No job, no person, no circumstance, however dire, can take away that which is essentially me. This concept is the core of Viktor Frankl's book Man's Search for Meaning. He gives numerous examples of people in Nazi death camps who maintained their hope, compassion and dignity even as they starved or entered the chambers. When l lost my friends in the sixth grade or lived in a dysfunctional marriage or worked in organizations that wanted all of me, l discovered that it was possible to give myself away --- to work too hard, be a doormat, chase after status or success or love. l did all those things at one time or another. l may have given myself away, but there was no one and nothing that ever ROBBED me --- and knowing that makes a big difference.
6. Pity and neediness can easily be confused with love. A life partner should bring out the best in you, and you should both like yourselves a lot when together, yet be able to function well when not. The same truism applies to friendships and work. One way of identifying the healthiness of love is to identify the "dance" that characterizes the relationship. ls it push and pull? ls it one person moving strongly and the other following meekly? ls it smooth or irregular? Do you step on each other's toes a lot? We all know when we're not dancing well together, but we often ignore the signs. Try not to. lt's very hard to change the dance once it's the norm.
7. When you're in a situation that is unwinnable, there's no point going down with the ship. Conversely, it's usually worth giving it everything you've got until the outcome is inevitable. The decision to stay in college until l could leave iwth my self-confidence intact was one of the smartest things l ever did. l left your dad only when l felt l'd exhausted all the options nad had no hope of improvement and no fear of regret. l resigned from CARE because once Steve (the boss) lost confidence in me, it was going to be all downhill. The tricky part of this insight is knowing when the tipping point comes. Don't act too soon, but act when you must.
8. Anger is debilitating and can get the best of me. l can handle hurt, sadness and grief. l can handle jealousy, though less effectively. But acknowledging and finding an acceptable outlet for anger has been tough. l've learned, however, that (a) if l give myself a little time and distance, (b) get an accurate understanding of what l'm angry about (versus displacing it onto a scapegoat) and (c) figure out a way to express it that minimizes the chance of hurting someone, it's much healther to get it out in the open. lt's much less damaging in the long run. Unexpressed anger doesn't go away. lt can eat up your insides or come out at the wrong target and the wrong time, doing much more harm than good. Anger is rarely irrational. There's a reason, maybe even a good one --- and it behooves me to find the root cause and deal with it.
9. Find out what nurtures your soul (your best, healthiest self) and what doesn't. The three things that are most healing and life-giving to me are prayer, solitutde and healthy living (emotional, social, physical). Doing something kind for someone is self-care. A daily rehearsal of everything l'm grateful for reminds me what a grand life l have in spite of various difficulties and hurdles. Organizing stuff, cleaning out the clutter (whether in closets or my brain) is always refreshing. l like to be smart physically, psychologically, and spiritually, and this means maintaining my exercise routing, spending time with Andrew and other friends, being alone, writing, painting, and even doing crossword puzzles. When l do things out of a need to keep up with the Joneses or establish my place or get approval, l begin to feel anxious and burned out, so l'm trying to stay clear on motivations.
10. Control is an illusion. There are some things we control of course, but ultimately, the events that really change our lives always include the reminder (usually via a whack on the side of the head) that we aren't in charge. A father's sudden death. A sick baby. Riots in Chicago. lllness, aging, death. And this is where my faith comes into play for me. l don't usually need God until l recognize that l'm not in the driver's seat and/or l can't manage alone. When l've messed up my life or am simply stumped, it's time to ask for help, to get in touch with the wisest part of myself that is God within. A faith in God isn't required here - it's knowing when we need to reach out, when we need to lean on others who can help us find our way, that's important. lt's knowing when we can't do it all by ourselves. My definitions of God, faith, soul, spirit, etc. are as open as possible, but l know it's critical for me to create a personal understanding of those things, one that can sustain me when losing my mind or drowning in hopelessness. lf l didn't have faith in SOMETHING, even if it's just *me*, l would have nothing.
The lmportant Lessons
lt's really hard to write down lessons that don't sound like shallow platitudes ----- like "Friends are the most important thing in life" ---- ugh...So l'll try to be explicit about why the following insights are real, practical guides to my actions versus good ideas l plucked out of the air. They were born out of experience and were usually learned the hard way. They influence what l do in many ways.
1. We have been given enormous freedom --- often more than we want. lt's sometimes tempting to give away my freedom to decide, act, or assume responsibility to circumstances beyond my control or a spouse or social norms or friends or liquor and drugs or physical/psychological limitations. But at the end of the day, l have to live with myself and with my decisions. l have to acknowledge that they were freely made, some for the right reasons, and some not. l believe the Garden of Eden story is mainly about freedom ---- Adam and Eve were give utter freedom to fuck up. God said "Don't", and they did. Or maybe they were simply presented with a set of options, and they chose the wrong one. Whatever, our lives continue to one long challenge not to follow their example, though of course we do. ln my own life, the deep need for approval has led me to stay in some situations that l really should have gotten out of earlier. There were logical excuses for my decisions, but the truth is that it usually boiled down to being too chicken to suffer the consequences of freedom. Growing old makes these choices a little easier since you have less and less to lose.
2. l'm not responsible FOR any other adult, for how they live, the choices they make, their happiness, the lifestyle they adopt, their weaknesses or strengths. l can help people, walk by their sides, try to enable them or have a positive influence on them. l can confront them with "reality". l can help them develop alternatives. But that's about it. Obviously children are in a separate category. By having them, we become responsible for them up to a certain age, and that responsibility includes loving, protecting, being kind, teaching, counseling, directing, feeding, clothing, nurturing, and so on. l only did a moderate job providing all those things, but it wasn't because l didn't understand them as my role. There were several years during which l thought of myself as a "healer". Then one day, the arrogance and illusion of that archetype hit me. l can't "heal" anyone. Real healing comes from within, from a decision to heal oneself and taking subsequent actions that lead to health. My responsibility begins and ends with supporting and assisting that journey in any way l can. That realization reduced a lot of stress in my life.
3. To have friends, you first have to decide what kind of friend you're going to be. Mara made a remark one day that has stuck with me, namely that there are two kinds of friends --- those who call and ask you to lunch and those who wait to be called. She said she was the latter. Most of my best friends are the latter. l am the former. l initiate friendships and work to nurture them. l try to be low-maintenance in all relationships ---- from Andrew to mere acquaintances. l try to be a good listener, because ultimately all anyone really wants is to be listened to, respected and taken seriously. Being this kind of friend has paid off in having wonderful people whom l love and vice versa. This doesn't mean l'm never disappointed. Friends sometimes don't reciprocate or support me like l wish they would. When l was recently very sick as well as when l broke my foot, only two of my friends here in Costa Rica called, no one came by, and the woman l consider my best friend never once called to check on me. Another person whom l count on for counself and affection was oblivious to a crisis l was experiencing because she had a trying situation of her own. So shit happens. lt helps to realize that l've also let others down, to know that they don't intend hurt and to simply practice forgiveness.
4. lt has never hurt me to face my fear or to face the fear l see in others. This doesn't mean it's easy to do either one. lt just means that asking the lion that's chasing you what he wants leads to insight and understanding, not death. lt leads to liberation. Fear is bondage, and breaking through your fear opens new vistas. There was a time in Andrew's and my courtship where l was going to break up with him. l was afraid of having my heart broken and l didn't think l could stand it. When l finally talked to the fear and asked what the worst was that could happen, two things got clear: one, my fear could and would kill the relationship if l didn't deal with it, and two, l could survive a broken heart a helluva lot better than l could survive being a coward. Fear of the truth in a relationship or sitting on anger, resentment or hurt is extremely damaging. Deciding to open up and how, when, and where to do so, is an art. l've been a lot more honest in recent years, and l'm still alive.
5. Nothing can rob me of my selfhood. No job, no person, no circumstance, however dire, can take away that which is essentially me. This concept is the core of Viktor Frankl's book Man's Search for Meaning. He gives numerous examples of people in Nazi death camps who maintained their hope, compassion and dignity even as they starved or entered the chambers. When l lost my friends in the sixth grade or lived in a dysfunctional marriage or worked in organizations that wanted all of me, l discovered that it was possible to give myself away --- to work too hard, be a doormat, chase after status or success or love. l did all those things at one time or another. l may have given myself away, but there was no one and nothing that ever ROBBED me --- and knowing that makes a big difference.
6. Pity and neediness can easily be confused with love. A life partner should bring out the best in you, and you should both like yourselves a lot when together, yet be able to function well when not. The same truism applies to friendships and work. One way of identifying the healthiness of love is to identify the "dance" that characterizes the relationship. ls it push and pull? ls it one person moving strongly and the other following meekly? ls it smooth or irregular? Do you step on each other's toes a lot? We all know when we're not dancing well together, but we often ignore the signs. Try not to. lt's very hard to change the dance once it's the norm.
7. When you're in a situation that is unwinnable, there's no point going down with the ship. Conversely, it's usually worth giving it everything you've got until the outcome is inevitable. The decision to stay in college until l could leave iwth my self-confidence intact was one of the smartest things l ever did. l left your dad only when l felt l'd exhausted all the options nad had no hope of improvement and no fear of regret. l resigned from CARE because once Steve (the boss) lost confidence in me, it was going to be all downhill. The tricky part of this insight is knowing when the tipping point comes. Don't act too soon, but act when you must.
8. Anger is debilitating and can get the best of me. l can handle hurt, sadness and grief. l can handle jealousy, though less effectively. But acknowledging and finding an acceptable outlet for anger has been tough. l've learned, however, that (a) if l give myself a little time and distance, (b) get an accurate understanding of what l'm angry about (versus displacing it onto a scapegoat) and (c) figure out a way to express it that minimizes the chance of hurting someone, it's much healther to get it out in the open. lt's much less damaging in the long run. Unexpressed anger doesn't go away. lt can eat up your insides or come out at the wrong target and the wrong time, doing much more harm than good. Anger is rarely irrational. There's a reason, maybe even a good one --- and it behooves me to find the root cause and deal with it.
9. Find out what nurtures your soul (your best, healthiest self) and what doesn't. The three things that are most healing and life-giving to me are prayer, solitutde and healthy living (emotional, social, physical). Doing something kind for someone is self-care. A daily rehearsal of everything l'm grateful for reminds me what a grand life l have in spite of various difficulties and hurdles. Organizing stuff, cleaning out the clutter (whether in closets or my brain) is always refreshing. l like to be smart physically, psychologically, and spiritually, and this means maintaining my exercise routing, spending time with Andrew and other friends, being alone, writing, painting, and even doing crossword puzzles. When l do things out of a need to keep up with the Joneses or establish my place or get approval, l begin to feel anxious and burned out, so l'm trying to stay clear on motivations.
10. Control is an illusion. There are some things we control of course, but ultimately, the events that really change our lives always include the reminder (usually via a whack on the side of the head) that we aren't in charge. A father's sudden death. A sick baby. Riots in Chicago. lllness, aging, death. And this is where my faith comes into play for me. l don't usually need God until l recognize that l'm not in the driver's seat and/or l can't manage alone. When l've messed up my life or am simply stumped, it's time to ask for help, to get in touch with the wisest part of myself that is God within. A faith in God isn't required here - it's knowing when we need to reach out, when we need to lean on others who can help us find our way, that's important. lt's knowing when we can't do it all by ourselves. My definitions of God, faith, soul, spirit, etc. are as open as possible, but l know it's critical for me to create a personal understanding of those things, one that can sustain me when losing my mind or drowning in hopelessness. lf l didn't have faith in SOMETHING, even if it's just *me*, l would have nothing.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Curveballs of life
This week hasn't been what l expected it to be. lt hasn't been quite what l wanted it to be either. My mother came down the first time in over a year. lt's a trip that has, sadly, been postponed three times, for various yet important reasons. Finally, after a great deal of impatient anticipation, she is here, and we chose to spend this short week in the San Juan islands off the coast of Washington. We are staying with a longtime family friend at his lovely home here, and l am grateful for his company and hospitality, yet, given his close relationship with my mom and his apparently complete lack of awareness, it has escaped his attention that she and l need some real quality time together, and instead seems to be vying desperately for time with her that l also badly need and am selfishly loath to share. For a majority of my young life, l've not had as much time with her as l would have liked, and it is during this particular visit that l realize just how much l resent both the distance between us and any company of hers l must share. This brings with it shame because l'm not a callous individual, worry because l don't know how to reverse it, and self righteousness that l feel l deserve the right to all her time during the brief visits we have together.
Mom is acutely aware of our need to spend time together, especially during this visit. l recently asked her to tell me more of her life before l came along; how she came to be my father's bride, mother to her daughter, and the events that shaped her up until those points. This is mainly born of a fear that she will die before l know her as intimately as l'd like, and l want to understand her better and more fully than l currently do. She chose to accept this challenge, and has written a short synopsis called "Memoirs for an audience of One", an incredible piece of work in which she details her childhood and moments in her life l always WISHED she'd share, but assumed she never would, because l was her daughter, not her confidante. However, l asked her to share her life as a woman, not a mother, and she has done so, and beautifully.
ln this memoir, she shares detail that is painful, joyful, precious, and much of which is deeply private and personal in regards to the both of us. l am not excluded from these memoirs - l am still her daughter, and a major part of her life. But these include details of her first marriage that allow me to further comprehend a divorce l probably chose to pretend didn't bother me because l knew it was the best for all involved, and throughout which l didn't want to be cause for concern. She clues me into her vulnerabilities, her insecurities, her triumphs, her failures, her confidence, her peace. This memoir answers many questions, but produces far more on my part that she seems eager and willing to answer, and l am deeply grateful for this. l am also excited to have these conversations - which brings me back to my original point.
We arrived at the island, and John picked us up. Shortly after getting there, and after our tour of the house and lodgings, he wanted to take us on a tour of the island. For the next two days, he was supposed to be working afternoons, but for whatever reason, did not. So we spent almost ALL of both days meeting all his friends on the island, having dinner with several and tea with yet another. Most of the other time we spent driving around, seeing the island, looking at the view, hiking. By the end of it, l think Mom and l were both too exhausted and overwhelmed by all the activity and energy to do much of anything. All l know is that we just wanted some peace to catch up and expand our relationship. But of course, later on in the evening, we discovered John had arranged a meetup today that we couldn't talk our way out of without being rude, and now, here l sit, writing because l feel compelled to do so, but also because l want John to have more time with her since we're leaving the island in the morning. l have all day with her tomorrow (Thursday) and she leaves early the next morning. We've had about five hours so far this trip to talk, most that being the car and boat ride here.
Don't get me wrong. l love John. He watched me grow up, and though he was a vague memory, l remember liking him very much, and that hasn't changed. My appreciation for the time l've spent with his fellow residents and the island on which they live is deep and genuine, so much so that l plan to return for future visits. But aside from my desire to have had more time with Mom, l really needed time for ME. l was hoping to come here, spend some good time with her on the veranda, draw, write, watch the deer, listen to the birds, the water, the wind in the trees, look at the stars, draw and write some more....get my head together, prepare for busy months ahead. *l* needed the retreat, and in yet another selfishly guilty way, l feel robbed. Tomorrow, it's back to the city, to the chaotic, and also the vastly mundane. lt has been a nice break - no cellphone signal to interrupt the still, soothing sound of nature...a wireless connection that was available, yet strangely far less appealing than it ever usually is for me (and y'all KNOW l'm an addict!!!)....the opportunity to appreciate NOT having a smoke, and instead breathing deep, filling breaths of fresh air (though l admit to giving in to my habit a couple of times, hehe). l love this state, this scenery, the ability to appreciate it with someone l love so deeply and who affirms my existence so wholly.
l feel guilty for wanting more than l'm given, especially when l have so much. This has been the dichotomy of growing up overseas and then being angry when my parents chose to stay there. But such is my fate, and such is my choice to deal with it in a way that makes me either grateful or bitter. l cannot choose the latter - to do so would be incredibly, unforgivably graceless. lt would negate what l HAVE had this week - the beauty of life outside of the city, the wonderful company of my mother, and the desperately needed break l've been given to reorganize myself and reconnect with my spirit.
Do l wish this week had gone somewhat differently? Yeah, l can't lie. Do l wish l'd had more time with my mama? Again, yes, l can't lie. Would l trade this week for one in which l did not get even the smallest percentage of the very things my soul needed to continue thriving? Not in a million years, and not for a million bucks. And l can rest easy now, knowing that despite not getting exactly the results l so earnestly covet, l will never regret what l am given. Amen.
Mom is acutely aware of our need to spend time together, especially during this visit. l recently asked her to tell me more of her life before l came along; how she came to be my father's bride, mother to her daughter, and the events that shaped her up until those points. This is mainly born of a fear that she will die before l know her as intimately as l'd like, and l want to understand her better and more fully than l currently do. She chose to accept this challenge, and has written a short synopsis called "Memoirs for an audience of One", an incredible piece of work in which she details her childhood and moments in her life l always WISHED she'd share, but assumed she never would, because l was her daughter, not her confidante. However, l asked her to share her life as a woman, not a mother, and she has done so, and beautifully.
ln this memoir, she shares detail that is painful, joyful, precious, and much of which is deeply private and personal in regards to the both of us. l am not excluded from these memoirs - l am still her daughter, and a major part of her life. But these include details of her first marriage that allow me to further comprehend a divorce l probably chose to pretend didn't bother me because l knew it was the best for all involved, and throughout which l didn't want to be cause for concern. She clues me into her vulnerabilities, her insecurities, her triumphs, her failures, her confidence, her peace. This memoir answers many questions, but produces far more on my part that she seems eager and willing to answer, and l am deeply grateful for this. l am also excited to have these conversations - which brings me back to my original point.
We arrived at the island, and John picked us up. Shortly after getting there, and after our tour of the house and lodgings, he wanted to take us on a tour of the island. For the next two days, he was supposed to be working afternoons, but for whatever reason, did not. So we spent almost ALL of both days meeting all his friends on the island, having dinner with several and tea with yet another. Most of the other time we spent driving around, seeing the island, looking at the view, hiking. By the end of it, l think Mom and l were both too exhausted and overwhelmed by all the activity and energy to do much of anything. All l know is that we just wanted some peace to catch up and expand our relationship. But of course, later on in the evening, we discovered John had arranged a meetup today that we couldn't talk our way out of without being rude, and now, here l sit, writing because l feel compelled to do so, but also because l want John to have more time with her since we're leaving the island in the morning. l have all day with her tomorrow (Thursday) and she leaves early the next morning. We've had about five hours so far this trip to talk, most that being the car and boat ride here.
Don't get me wrong. l love John. He watched me grow up, and though he was a vague memory, l remember liking him very much, and that hasn't changed. My appreciation for the time l've spent with his fellow residents and the island on which they live is deep and genuine, so much so that l plan to return for future visits. But aside from my desire to have had more time with Mom, l really needed time for ME. l was hoping to come here, spend some good time with her on the veranda, draw, write, watch the deer, listen to the birds, the water, the wind in the trees, look at the stars, draw and write some more....get my head together, prepare for busy months ahead. *l* needed the retreat, and in yet another selfishly guilty way, l feel robbed. Tomorrow, it's back to the city, to the chaotic, and also the vastly mundane. lt has been a nice break - no cellphone signal to interrupt the still, soothing sound of nature...a wireless connection that was available, yet strangely far less appealing than it ever usually is for me (and y'all KNOW l'm an addict!!!)....the opportunity to appreciate NOT having a smoke, and instead breathing deep, filling breaths of fresh air (though l admit to giving in to my habit a couple of times, hehe). l love this state, this scenery, the ability to appreciate it with someone l love so deeply and who affirms my existence so wholly.
l feel guilty for wanting more than l'm given, especially when l have so much. This has been the dichotomy of growing up overseas and then being angry when my parents chose to stay there. But such is my fate, and such is my choice to deal with it in a way that makes me either grateful or bitter. l cannot choose the latter - to do so would be incredibly, unforgivably graceless. lt would negate what l HAVE had this week - the beauty of life outside of the city, the wonderful company of my mother, and the desperately needed break l've been given to reorganize myself and reconnect with my spirit.
Do l wish this week had gone somewhat differently? Yeah, l can't lie. Do l wish l'd had more time with my mama? Again, yes, l can't lie. Would l trade this week for one in which l did not get even the smallest percentage of the very things my soul needed to continue thriving? Not in a million years, and not for a million bucks. And l can rest easy now, knowing that despite not getting exactly the results l so earnestly covet, l will never regret what l am given. Amen.
Thursday, July 6, 2006
71 Questions
This one's long, but some of my old blogs or entries just have fun facts that l'd like to keep around so l don't have to repeat them.
[1] What is your middle name?
Albright.
[2] What color is your mailbox?
Could give a shit.
[3] Do you have a crush?
Several. Both sexes.
[4] Have you ever hit a deer?
??? naw.
[5] Do you have to drive over a bridge to get home?
Yep.
[6] Do you get the paper delivered to your house in the morning?
Nope.
[7] Who checks the mail in your house?
Me.
[8] Do you have a small driveway ?
Nope. Don't have one.
[9] Do you know anyone with the same ringtone as you?
No.
[10] What do you do first in the morning?
Pee.
[11] What brand is your printer?
Can't remember. lt don't work no mo'.
[12] Do you enjoy fighting with people?
Not at all...though l hold my own if l'm unfortunate to find myself in one. l prefer compromise and acceptance of personal responsibility. l'm not a hater.
[13] Is your hair naturally straight or curly?
Curly.
[14] Who was your kindergarten teacher?
How the hell am l supposed to remember THAT?
[16] Are you taller than your mother?
No, but it's a running joke that l check every time she comes to town just to see if l've grown any.
[17] Do you have a favorite word?
Gank. As in "Bitch, you ganked my lighter, give it back." Flashback from high school.
[18] Are you God?
No, but l like to think l got a little in me here and there.
[19] What do you do to get over a broken heart?
lt's been a while since l had one, but l usually try to work out what l did wrong in the situation, appreciate the positive and the things l learned from the negative, and l always try to remain friends if possible.
[20] Do you have a deep, dark secret?
Well, yeah, but like l'm gonna tell YOU.
[22] Do you enjoy writing in colored pens?
When they're available, yeah. lt's the kid in me.
[23] Does anything hurt on your body right now?
My whole body hurts.
[24] Do you often cry during movies?
Not really, l'm not a huge girly movie fan. l did cry in Field of Dreams, though.
[25] Do you hate your life?
Not at all. There are things l'd like to improve upon, but no.
[26] Do you get mad easily?
No. Annoyed, yes, but downright angry, no.
[27] Do you drink to get drunk?
To quote my friend Conceptual lnnovator: "No, that's just a by-product." A common one...but a by-product nonetheless.
[28] What is your biggest pet peeve?
People who chew with their mouth open or smack when they're eating. Others include obnoxiousness, and men who brag about the size of their dicks. And people who talk over me when l'm in the middle of saying something. Or watching a movie. Or on the phone with someone else.
[29] What is your away message?
Um..."l'm away"?? Who the fuck came up with these questions?
[30] Do any of your friends have kids?
Yes, and it's likely l'll be the last to have them.
[32] Who should pay on the first date?
Whoever asks first....but both should be prepared to go dutch and do so gracefully.
33] How many years older than you are you willing to date?
3-6 years. Only because l'm still a big kid.
[34] Do you have any friends?
Again, who the fuck came up with these questions? Yes, l have a few.
[35] Do you have any mean friends?
Some aren't willing to pussyfoot around matters, and are therefore seen as mean by the uber-sensitive. lt's subjective.
[36] What is the ugliest color in your opinion?
Pink and orange.
[37] Have you ever liked someone who all your friends couldn't stand?
See above on the mean friends question.
[38] Have you ever felt like driving off a cliff, seriously?
Not specifically. There was a time in high school l considered and tried other options.
[39] Have you ever been fired from a job?
Yes. Not proud.
[40] What year was your first love?
First kid love, at fourteen. First real love (or at least more conscious), nineteen.
[41] Do you have a cell?
l've been put in one a couple of times...oh. A cellphone. Yeah, mine got stolen a couple of weeks ago. l now have a temporary one until l replace the other. Fucking thieving bitches. Those of you friends of mine that have tried to call me, fear not...the same number will be working again today or tomorrow.
(2010 edit: Now my phone situation currently stands at broken. Again. l'd like to throw it against a wall, but apparently that won't do me any good. l'll be buying a new one shortly.)
[42] What brand are the pant/jeans you're wearing right now?]
Kikwear
(2010 edit: Pants?)
[43] How tall are you?
5'5" and a half. That half an inch really counts.
[44] What is the closest green object?
*coughcough* l plead the fifth.
[45] What is on your feet?
Nuthin.
[46] Do you like watermelon?
Depends on my mood.
[48] Do you want to have kids?
Eventually, l think. l'm still on the fence, but more so because l'm not sure about the world l'd be bringing them into, not because l don't want to.
(2010 edit: Still not sure. But mainly because l may be too old by the time someone decides he wants to have babies with me to begin with. Also, l think my genes are defective.)
[49] What is the brightest color you're wearing?
Ummm...black.
[50] Who is the last friend you have that you would ever expect to be gay?
l'm blessed with gaydar. l usually know before they do. l honestly don't remember the last time l was surprised.
[52] Whats your mothers middle name?
Ann
[53] Stupidest movie you ever saw?
Recently, they all got beat out by UltraViolet.
[54] Do you collect comic books?
Yes...Elric, Elfquest, and X-Men. Elfquest is my current obsession.
[55] Do you like your dad?
We had some very rocky years between sixteen and twenty, but he's been an incredible father for the most part, so yes.
(2010 edit: l like him more and more as time goes on. l'm blessed.)
[56] Do you have any TV shows on DVD?
Firefly and Buffy. Don't laugh and if you do, bite me. Joss Whedon's a pretty funny fucking writer.
(2010 edit: Dexter)
[57] Are you wearing makeup?
Mascara.
[58] Do you have a tattoo?
Seven.
(2010 edit: Eight.)
[59] Have you ever been happily in love?
For a time, most definitely.
[60] If you won the lottery you would.....?..
Pay off my debts, finance my business, go visit my parents overseas, and probably move back overseas myself. Somewhere in there l'd invest a pretty decent amount and let that shit collect interest.
[61] Is there something you want to tell someone, but you haven't?
Yes. Many times.
[62] Do you know how to draw?
Yeah. Pretty damn good at it too.
[63] Who is your hero?
My mother, my uncle, and a number of others.
[64] Who'd you last IMed?
Nobody you know.
[65.] Do you work a lot of hours?
Yes.
[66] What do you do when you are stressed out?
Breathe. Write. Dance. Draw.
[67] Who was the last person that called you?
Josh
[68] Is there anything you regret?
l *might* do something differently the next time around were l given the chance, but l'm not sure how that would affect my future after that, so no. What l am is a result of both my mistakes and successes.
[69] Do you know where your family names originated from?
Wales, Germany, and France.
[70] Is there any animal that creeps you out?
Not that l can think of....
[71] What was the last thing you did for fun?
Jumped in a pool and drank mimosas.
[1] What is your middle name?
Albright.
[2] What color is your mailbox?
Could give a shit.
[3] Do you have a crush?
Several. Both sexes.
[4] Have you ever hit a deer?
??? naw.
[5] Do you have to drive over a bridge to get home?
Yep.
[6] Do you get the paper delivered to your house in the morning?
Nope.
[7] Who checks the mail in your house?
Me.
[8] Do you have a small driveway ?
Nope. Don't have one.
[9] Do you know anyone with the same ringtone as you?
No.
[10] What do you do first in the morning?
Pee.
[11] What brand is your printer?
Can't remember. lt don't work no mo'.
[12] Do you enjoy fighting with people?
Not at all...though l hold my own if l'm unfortunate to find myself in one. l prefer compromise and acceptance of personal responsibility. l'm not a hater.
[13] Is your hair naturally straight or curly?
Curly.
[14] Who was your kindergarten teacher?
How the hell am l supposed to remember THAT?
[16] Are you taller than your mother?
No, but it's a running joke that l check every time she comes to town just to see if l've grown any.
[17] Do you have a favorite word?
Gank. As in "Bitch, you ganked my lighter, give it back." Flashback from high school.
[18] Are you God?
No, but l like to think l got a little in me here and there.
[19] What do you do to get over a broken heart?
lt's been a while since l had one, but l usually try to work out what l did wrong in the situation, appreciate the positive and the things l learned from the negative, and l always try to remain friends if possible.
[20] Do you have a deep, dark secret?
Well, yeah, but like l'm gonna tell YOU.
[22] Do you enjoy writing in colored pens?
When they're available, yeah. lt's the kid in me.
[23] Does anything hurt on your body right now?
My whole body hurts.
[24] Do you often cry during movies?
Not really, l'm not a huge girly movie fan. l did cry in Field of Dreams, though.
[25] Do you hate your life?
Not at all. There are things l'd like to improve upon, but no.
[26] Do you get mad easily?
No. Annoyed, yes, but downright angry, no.
[27] Do you drink to get drunk?
To quote my friend Conceptual lnnovator: "No, that's just a by-product." A common one...but a by-product nonetheless.
[28] What is your biggest pet peeve?
People who chew with their mouth open or smack when they're eating. Others include obnoxiousness, and men who brag about the size of their dicks. And people who talk over me when l'm in the middle of saying something. Or watching a movie. Or on the phone with someone else.
[29] What is your away message?
Um..."l'm away"?? Who the fuck came up with these questions?
[30] Do any of your friends have kids?
Yes, and it's likely l'll be the last to have them.
[32] Who should pay on the first date?
Whoever asks first....but both should be prepared to go dutch and do so gracefully.
33] How many years older than you are you willing to date?
3-6 years. Only because l'm still a big kid.
[34] Do you have any friends?
Again, who the fuck came up with these questions? Yes, l have a few.
[35] Do you have any mean friends?
Some aren't willing to pussyfoot around matters, and are therefore seen as mean by the uber-sensitive. lt's subjective.
[36] What is the ugliest color in your opinion?
Pink and orange.
[37] Have you ever liked someone who all your friends couldn't stand?
See above on the mean friends question.
[38] Have you ever felt like driving off a cliff, seriously?
Not specifically. There was a time in high school l considered and tried other options.
[39] Have you ever been fired from a job?
Yes. Not proud.
[40] What year was your first love?
First kid love, at fourteen. First real love (or at least more conscious), nineteen.
[41] Do you have a cell?
l've been put in one a couple of times...oh. A cellphone. Yeah, mine got stolen a couple of weeks ago. l now have a temporary one until l replace the other. Fucking thieving bitches. Those of you friends of mine that have tried to call me, fear not...the same number will be working again today or tomorrow.
(2010 edit: Now my phone situation currently stands at broken. Again. l'd like to throw it against a wall, but apparently that won't do me any good. l'll be buying a new one shortly.)
[42] What brand are the pant/jeans you're wearing right now?]
Kikwear
(2010 edit: Pants?)
[43] How tall are you?
5'5" and a half. That half an inch really counts.
[44] What is the closest green object?
*coughcough* l plead the fifth.
[45] What is on your feet?
Nuthin.
[46] Do you like watermelon?
Depends on my mood.
[48] Do you want to have kids?
Eventually, l think. l'm still on the fence, but more so because l'm not sure about the world l'd be bringing them into, not because l don't want to.
(2010 edit: Still not sure. But mainly because l may be too old by the time someone decides he wants to have babies with me to begin with. Also, l think my genes are defective.)
[49] What is the brightest color you're wearing?
Ummm...black.
[50] Who is the last friend you have that you would ever expect to be gay?
l'm blessed with gaydar. l usually know before they do. l honestly don't remember the last time l was surprised.
[52] Whats your mothers middle name?
Ann
[53] Stupidest movie you ever saw?
Recently, they all got beat out by UltraViolet.
[54] Do you collect comic books?
Yes...Elric, Elfquest, and X-Men. Elfquest is my current obsession.
[55] Do you like your dad?
We had some very rocky years between sixteen and twenty, but he's been an incredible father for the most part, so yes.
(2010 edit: l like him more and more as time goes on. l'm blessed.)
[56] Do you have any TV shows on DVD?
Firefly and Buffy. Don't laugh and if you do, bite me. Joss Whedon's a pretty funny fucking writer.
(2010 edit: Dexter)
[57] Are you wearing makeup?
Mascara.
[58] Do you have a tattoo?
Seven.
(2010 edit: Eight.)
[59] Have you ever been happily in love?
For a time, most definitely.
[60] If you won the lottery you would.....?..
Pay off my debts, finance my business, go visit my parents overseas, and probably move back overseas myself. Somewhere in there l'd invest a pretty decent amount and let that shit collect interest.
[61] Is there something you want to tell someone, but you haven't?
Yes. Many times.
[62] Do you know how to draw?
Yeah. Pretty damn good at it too.
[63] Who is your hero?
My mother, my uncle, and a number of others.
[64] Who'd you last IMed?
Nobody you know.
[65.] Do you work a lot of hours?
Yes.
[66] What do you do when you are stressed out?
Breathe. Write. Dance. Draw.
[67] Who was the last person that called you?
Josh
[68] Is there anything you regret?
l *might* do something differently the next time around were l given the chance, but l'm not sure how that would affect my future after that, so no. What l am is a result of both my mistakes and successes.
[69] Do you know where your family names originated from?
Wales, Germany, and France.
[70] Is there any animal that creeps you out?
Not that l can think of....
[71] What was the last thing you did for fun?
Jumped in a pool and drank mimosas.
This was a thing someone sent where l had to discuss 8 things about me. l forgot about it, but l like it, so l'm posting it. With edits.
1. I like Cheetos with vanilla ice cream.
2. My parents took me to a nude beach accidentally once when I was five (it was just advertised in a guidebook with no mention of the nudism), and I was so aghast that there were so many ‘poor’ people there who couldn’t afford clothing that I got hysterical when my parents refused to give me money for them.
3. I was an only child until I was twenty four. I now have two step siblings in their thirties and a seven year old half brother.
4. The only bones I’ve broken have been my big toes – my left three times, and my right twice. All but one dancing barefoot.
5. I have a weird habit of rubbing the backs of my arms when they get cold to the touch. It bugs me for some reason that the fronts are warm when the backs aren’t, so you can always catch me rubbing the backs of my arms, but not my fronts…even if it’s not that cold outside.
6. There’s a star tattoo in the hollow of my neck that was actually a friendship tattoo…but you guessed it, we’re no longer friends. Long story, different paths.
7. My three to five year goal is to have an organization up and running (or be networking with an already established one) that benefits and raises awareness for special needs children in impoverished countries. My recent trip to Kenya yielded several people already in the field who may be able to help me achieve that goal quicker and easier. lf it happens, l will probably move back to Nairobi. I’ll have to do some research, but overseas is where I belong…and overseas is where I intend to go.
8. I went to jail for several weed related misdemeanors between the ages of eighteen and nineteen, and during that time, figured out that even at the smallest setting, I can take handcuffs off. I kept giving them back to my *very* butch booking officer, who seemed to love the fact that I could remove em in the first place, and after I convinced her (with a bit of eyelash batting) that I wasn’t going anywhere – and how could I? – she let me go without.
1. I like Cheetos with vanilla ice cream.
2. My parents took me to a nude beach accidentally once when I was five (it was just advertised in a guidebook with no mention of the nudism), and I was so aghast that there were so many ‘poor’ people there who couldn’t afford clothing that I got hysterical when my parents refused to give me money for them.
3. I was an only child until I was twenty four. I now have two step siblings in their thirties and a seven year old half brother.
4. The only bones I’ve broken have been my big toes – my left three times, and my right twice. All but one dancing barefoot.
5. I have a weird habit of rubbing the backs of my arms when they get cold to the touch. It bugs me for some reason that the fronts are warm when the backs aren’t, so you can always catch me rubbing the backs of my arms, but not my fronts…even if it’s not that cold outside.
6. There’s a star tattoo in the hollow of my neck that was actually a friendship tattoo…but you guessed it, we’re no longer friends. Long story, different paths.
7. My three to five year goal is to have an organization up and running (or be networking with an already established one) that benefits and raises awareness for special needs children in impoverished countries. My recent trip to Kenya yielded several people already in the field who may be able to help me achieve that goal quicker and easier. lf it happens, l will probably move back to Nairobi. I’ll have to do some research, but overseas is where I belong…and overseas is where I intend to go.
8. I went to jail for several weed related misdemeanors between the ages of eighteen and nineteen, and during that time, figured out that even at the smallest setting, I can take handcuffs off. I kept giving them back to my *very* butch booking officer, who seemed to love the fact that I could remove em in the first place, and after I convinced her (with a bit of eyelash batting) that I wasn’t going anywhere – and how could I? – she let me go without.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Bad hair days
(Please note: That is not my hair in the photo. l just pulled it off some image search.)
l have a big ol' dread
ln the back of my head.
l don't know how it got there,
But l suspect my hair
Remembers better than l.
l do know there was sex involved
And lack of a brush caused my dread to evolve
lnto one massive twisted mess
That l fear to untangle
l confess
this is not the first big ol' dread
l've had in the back of my head
But it is the only one that has inspired prose
So maybe it has a purpose, who knows?
l feel like l should name it.
Detangler is your friend.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Turning thirty
My birthday's coming up, and l had this whole thing l was going to write out on my thoughts about turning thirty...but they're sort of pretty much summed up in this piece l wrote for my mom's 60th commemoration book about growing older, so here you go.
When people ask my age, l say twenty nine, and then jokingly add that l plan on staying twenty nine for as long as l can get away with it. It’s a telling statement for two reasons; one, l really don’t wanna grow up (I’m a Toys-R-Us kid…), and secondly, I think I’m afraid of “losing” myself. It’s the fear of turning thirty; I know this, since I’ve never cared much about my age, and all of a sudden, the thought of pretending I’m younger is REALLY attractive. I think there’s a stigma surrounding the thirties and forties, one that implies that we get less attractive, less enjoyable or interesting, have less fun, have less of….everything.
People say forty’s over the hill, but everyone hints that it’s really thirty. I find myself getting caught up in this hype, and frankly, it pisses me off. I remember telling Mom several years back that I believed that physically, people become more beautiful as they age; the wisdom and character they’ve gained becomes etched in their faces, and that, in turn, adds character to their visage. She found this hilarious, if I remember correctly, and I think her response was along the lines of “You may feel differently in a decade.” I understand this now, not because I look older than my twenty nine years, but because, on some level, I’ve fallen for the hype that we also get less *attractive* as we age.
But here’s the thing. The reason it pisses me off is because I find my mother to be a direct contradiction to the beliefs that we become less of ANYTHING as we grow older. And I’m a pretty reliable source on this, being her daughter and all.
Over the years, I’ve seen my mother open up in ways I don’t think she was able to during my younger years and in an unhappy marriage. I think staying in it for my sake forced her to keep a part of herself shut down, and having an angry and rebellious child on her hands didn’t help either. It was only after I graduated and she met Harry that things seemed to really open up for her, though I noticed a huge change in her demeanor after separating from Dad. As time has gone on, she’s ‘settled’ into herself in a way that I can only understand through a few ‘settling’ experiences of my own, but it’s a beautiful thing to watch. And every time we talk, I realize just how far I have to go…and just how far I’ve come. I spend a lot of time thinking about Mom and the advice and wisdom she’s passed down over the years, and wishing dearly that I weren’t still so screwed up in the head. This is funny, because I also know full well that much of her wisdom comes from experiences I have yet to face – so why do I fear turning thirty? Because I have a deep love/hate relationship with instant gratification. I want to be there NOW, know what she knows, have the love she has, have the *center* she does.
As my mother’s gotten older, she’s also gotten more beautiful. I found a photo of her recently back when she was twenty two, and because I don’t remember her looking like that, I found her absolutely STUNNING. As I considered how I see her now, and how she looked then, I appreciate both…but lack of wrinkles generally equal lack of wisdom (plastic surgery don’t count), and while I still think my mother’s beautiful, it’s her aura, the confidence she proudly but humbly wears around her, that truly makes her stunning. Back then, she was stunning physically, yes. Now, what makes her so striking is her beauty *combined* with her ESSENCE. It takes great skill to know your worth without letting it color who you ARE. She’s a hard act to follow, but I’m gonna do my best. In doing so, I’ll have to stick to my own “Beauty is increased through age” philosophy – so in the future, when people ask me my age, I think I’m gonna say “Months away from thirty, baby. Only a few months away from thirty.” Thirty one can’t come fast enough.
When people ask my age, l say twenty nine, and then jokingly add that l plan on staying twenty nine for as long as l can get away with it. It’s a telling statement for two reasons; one, l really don’t wanna grow up (I’m a Toys-R-Us kid…), and secondly, I think I’m afraid of “losing” myself. It’s the fear of turning thirty; I know this, since I’ve never cared much about my age, and all of a sudden, the thought of pretending I’m younger is REALLY attractive. I think there’s a stigma surrounding the thirties and forties, one that implies that we get less attractive, less enjoyable or interesting, have less fun, have less of….everything.
People say forty’s over the hill, but everyone hints that it’s really thirty. I find myself getting caught up in this hype, and frankly, it pisses me off. I remember telling Mom several years back that I believed that physically, people become more beautiful as they age; the wisdom and character they’ve gained becomes etched in their faces, and that, in turn, adds character to their visage. She found this hilarious, if I remember correctly, and I think her response was along the lines of “You may feel differently in a decade.” I understand this now, not because I look older than my twenty nine years, but because, on some level, I’ve fallen for the hype that we also get less *attractive* as we age.
But here’s the thing. The reason it pisses me off is because I find my mother to be a direct contradiction to the beliefs that we become less of ANYTHING as we grow older. And I’m a pretty reliable source on this, being her daughter and all.
Over the years, I’ve seen my mother open up in ways I don’t think she was able to during my younger years and in an unhappy marriage. I think staying in it for my sake forced her to keep a part of herself shut down, and having an angry and rebellious child on her hands didn’t help either. It was only after I graduated and she met Harry that things seemed to really open up for her, though I noticed a huge change in her demeanor after separating from Dad. As time has gone on, she’s ‘settled’ into herself in a way that I can only understand through a few ‘settling’ experiences of my own, but it’s a beautiful thing to watch. And every time we talk, I realize just how far I have to go…and just how far I’ve come. I spend a lot of time thinking about Mom and the advice and wisdom she’s passed down over the years, and wishing dearly that I weren’t still so screwed up in the head. This is funny, because I also know full well that much of her wisdom comes from experiences I have yet to face – so why do I fear turning thirty? Because I have a deep love/hate relationship with instant gratification. I want to be there NOW, know what she knows, have the love she has, have the *center* she does.
As my mother’s gotten older, she’s also gotten more beautiful. I found a photo of her recently back when she was twenty two, and because I don’t remember her looking like that, I found her absolutely STUNNING. As I considered how I see her now, and how she looked then, I appreciate both…but lack of wrinkles generally equal lack of wisdom (plastic surgery don’t count), and while I still think my mother’s beautiful, it’s her aura, the confidence she proudly but humbly wears around her, that truly makes her stunning. Back then, she was stunning physically, yes. Now, what makes her so striking is her beauty *combined* with her ESSENCE. It takes great skill to know your worth without letting it color who you ARE. She’s a hard act to follow, but I’m gonna do my best. In doing so, I’ll have to stick to my own “Beauty is increased through age” philosophy – so in the future, when people ask me my age, I think I’m gonna say “Months away from thirty, baby. Only a few months away from thirty.” Thirty one can’t come fast enough.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Another one from Mom
This one's about six years old, but l still carry the original everywhere l go. l think it was the first real concrete understanding l had of how deeply my mother loves me and how much l affected her everyday life. lt was truly the highest compliment l can think of.
Harry, the love of my life, has a philosophy about organizations, namely that they are all inherently selfish. Thus, he tells all his new employees that it’s crucial to be absolutely clear about your own life goals, then to find the organization that can serve as the vehicle to help you achieve them. Otherwise, you run the risk of feeling used by any group you join.
I don’t know that I was 100% clear on this in 1967 when I decided to join the Order (ICA), but if someone had said it to me, I can imagine responding that, indeed, I was using the Order to reach my life goals. The surprise is that it turned out to be more of a “vehicle” than I ever imagined. In fact, I think it was more of a magical steed. It took me to a thousand places I would never have otherwise seen. It provided me with more weird and wonderful experiences than any one person deserves. It led to friendships that continue to be the richest, most durable, deep and satisfying of my life. Some of these friends are current and often seen. Others show up every ten or twenty years, and it feels like yesterday that we were together. It provided an incomparable experience of life in community. It gave me methods that I have used successfully in every job I’ve ever had. Colleagues at work thought I was marvelous, and I didn’t tell them how little I had to do with it! Finally, it anchored me in a word about life, gave me a God that was ever-creative, expanding, intelligent and beckoning, and thereby gave my life a center that has sustained me for fifty-five years.
Was it all rosy in the Order? Of course not. Were there decisions made that I would make differently now? Of course. I cried a lot, both for myself and for others. I traveled too much. I hurt and neglected family, friends and colleagues in the name of the mission I was on. But even then, somewhere deep inside, these events wove themselves into the fabric of my life, and I learned from them. To quote a Sufi poet, “When, in dying, did I ever grow less?”
What were the ‘life goals’ that made me choose the Order as the means? Put succinctly, I wanted enlightenment and a life of service. I certainly haven’t achieved the former, but I got wonderful tools and insights from 23 years of collegiums, studies, RS-1s and art form conversations. As for service, I found the opportunities were limitless, in both the microcosm of a spiritual hous and in whatever country I happened to find myself. I learned that ‘service’ has many faces, from tiny acts of kindness to worldwide, history-long schemes. In the late 80’s, I began to experience that my magical steed was growing tired. She didn’t seem to be carrying me with the same passion as before. To be fair, it wasn’t all her fault. There were personal dimensions that were taking on more importance; I was growing older; my child was growing older; I was getting tired. And finally, I made the decision to change horses. It was a decision enacted with a sense of elation and freedom as well as with sadness that a long, rich phase of my life was ending. There was no anger. There was only gratitude for all the years of fulfillment she had given me.
What was the cost to my child? What toll did it take when she was thrown into the fourth grade in a French school without a word of French? What happened to her when the Kenyan women threatened to stab her for some minor infraction? Did her psyche ever recover from always being the alien, the outsider, the weird kid who lived in a weird house with a bunch of other people? What wounds never healed from her encounter with a pedophile (and I use the word to describe someone who was diagnosed as such and received treatment)? And on top of all that (and much more), she had parents with a mission, for God’s sake. Parents whose unresolved tensions only occasionally surfaced, but were forever a part of the landscape of her home. A mother who probably would have preferred to remain childless. Was she damaged?
If you ask me, I would certainly say yes. The odd thing is that she wouldn’t. She really appreciates her growing up. She even thinks her parents did a pretty good job, despite their flaws. She feels that living as she did made her more aware, both of the world and of herself. She likes her life and herself as she is right now. If I were to see her ‘through God’s eyes’ (to quote John Dunne), I would have to say she is probably more right than I am.
We used to study a paper by John Knox called “The Event and the Story”. I still cherish that image. Life is full of ‘events’. Some of them, when remembered, cause me intense shame or anger or sadness or disgust. Others provoke joy, satisfaction, and gratitude. But the events themselves are objective. They happened, and now they’re past. And I am left forever with the question of what story I will create to weave those events into the tapestry of my life. I can weave a tapestry that is dark, or I can weave one that is light. I can create a story that takes life away or that creates it. My daughter, this strange young angel, has created a story that gives her life. Can I do less?
Harry, the love of my life, has a philosophy about organizations, namely that they are all inherently selfish. Thus, he tells all his new employees that it’s crucial to be absolutely clear about your own life goals, then to find the organization that can serve as the vehicle to help you achieve them. Otherwise, you run the risk of feeling used by any group you join.
I don’t know that I was 100% clear on this in 1967 when I decided to join the Order (ICA), but if someone had said it to me, I can imagine responding that, indeed, I was using the Order to reach my life goals. The surprise is that it turned out to be more of a “vehicle” than I ever imagined. In fact, I think it was more of a magical steed. It took me to a thousand places I would never have otherwise seen. It provided me with more weird and wonderful experiences than any one person deserves. It led to friendships that continue to be the richest, most durable, deep and satisfying of my life. Some of these friends are current and often seen. Others show up every ten or twenty years, and it feels like yesterday that we were together. It provided an incomparable experience of life in community. It gave me methods that I have used successfully in every job I’ve ever had. Colleagues at work thought I was marvelous, and I didn’t tell them how little I had to do with it! Finally, it anchored me in a word about life, gave me a God that was ever-creative, expanding, intelligent and beckoning, and thereby gave my life a center that has sustained me for fifty-five years.
Was it all rosy in the Order? Of course not. Were there decisions made that I would make differently now? Of course. I cried a lot, both for myself and for others. I traveled too much. I hurt and neglected family, friends and colleagues in the name of the mission I was on. But even then, somewhere deep inside, these events wove themselves into the fabric of my life, and I learned from them. To quote a Sufi poet, “When, in dying, did I ever grow less?”
What were the ‘life goals’ that made me choose the Order as the means? Put succinctly, I wanted enlightenment and a life of service. I certainly haven’t achieved the former, but I got wonderful tools and insights from 23 years of collegiums, studies, RS-1s and art form conversations. As for service, I found the opportunities were limitless, in both the microcosm of a spiritual hous and in whatever country I happened to find myself. I learned that ‘service’ has many faces, from tiny acts of kindness to worldwide, history-long schemes. In the late 80’s, I began to experience that my magical steed was growing tired. She didn’t seem to be carrying me with the same passion as before. To be fair, it wasn’t all her fault. There were personal dimensions that were taking on more importance; I was growing older; my child was growing older; I was getting tired. And finally, I made the decision to change horses. It was a decision enacted with a sense of elation and freedom as well as with sadness that a long, rich phase of my life was ending. There was no anger. There was only gratitude for all the years of fulfillment she had given me.
What was the cost to my child? What toll did it take when she was thrown into the fourth grade in a French school without a word of French? What happened to her when the Kenyan women threatened to stab her for some minor infraction? Did her psyche ever recover from always being the alien, the outsider, the weird kid who lived in a weird house with a bunch of other people? What wounds never healed from her encounter with a pedophile (and I use the word to describe someone who was diagnosed as such and received treatment)? And on top of all that (and much more), she had parents with a mission, for God’s sake. Parents whose unresolved tensions only occasionally surfaced, but were forever a part of the landscape of her home. A mother who probably would have preferred to remain childless. Was she damaged?
If you ask me, I would certainly say yes. The odd thing is that she wouldn’t. She really appreciates her growing up. She even thinks her parents did a pretty good job, despite their flaws. She feels that living as she did made her more aware, both of the world and of herself. She likes her life and herself as she is right now. If I were to see her ‘through God’s eyes’ (to quote John Dunne), I would have to say she is probably more right than I am.
We used to study a paper by John Knox called “The Event and the Story”. I still cherish that image. Life is full of ‘events’. Some of them, when remembered, cause me intense shame or anger or sadness or disgust. Others provoke joy, satisfaction, and gratitude. But the events themselves are objective. They happened, and now they’re past. And I am left forever with the question of what story I will create to weave those events into the tapestry of my life. I can weave a tapestry that is dark, or I can weave one that is light. I can create a story that takes life away or that creates it. My daughter, this strange young angel, has created a story that gives her life. Can I do less?
Sunday, February 19, 2006
ln the Beginning
This is a piece my mom recently shared with me. lt never fails to amaze me how similar we are sometimes, and how our views coincide, even when l was a little girl. My mom kicks much ass.
In the Beginning
Soft lowing bleeds through the final frame of a forgotten dream. My body aches from the hard straw mattress. Nestled in the half moon of my body, my daughter stretches and turns. “Mom,” she whispers, “what’s that?” “Cows,” I whisper back. “Let’s go see them,” she says. And we creep into the still-gray morning.
As we stand silently, bare arms pimply from a cold breeze, the pink ruffle of dawn slips over the horizon. It is our first day in Kamweleni, a village tucked into the dry hills of Kenya. “I love this place,” Alison says with quiet awe. “So do I,” I answer.
This is the beginning. I’ve almost forgotten yesterday, the hot, cramped trip from Nairobi to Machakos, the battered minivan that crashed into giant potholes and slid around muddy corners toward deep ravines. I’m glad I didn’t get the quick and painless death I prayed for.
I’m aware of a strange collision of fear and wonder, terror and peace. I don’t yet know that I will encounter these polarities a thousand times over the next six years. I don’t realize that we will be different people when we leave, that my little girl will grow into a young woman who is racially color-blind, and an outsider in her own culture, that I will be humbled by people who manage poverty, death and strangers with dignity and generosity of spirit, that I will forget old fears and discover new ones, that I will feel unaccountably “at home” and unequivocally alien. On this first day, I am only just discovering the magic, sadness and glory of Africa, its deep contradictions, and unlimited potential. Thank god for the unknown – and for the journeys that take us there.
Dream lnterpretations
l had this dream last night that l was dressed up all hot at some party with a mini on, and at some point, looked down and had this really long but soft brown hair all over my legs. l kept pulling it all together and tucking it into my boots and hoping nobody would notice, which they did. l think it turned into a nightmare when they all started pointing and laughing.
Moral of the story? l need to shave.
Moral of the story? l need to shave.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Full Circle
When l was eight and living in Brussels, a man that had known and worked with my parents for about fifteen years, Jim Oberg, molested me. It wasn’t anything major in comparison to some, l suppose…he’d give us piggy back rides and slip his hands under our skirts into our underwear. There was more disturbing detail to this that l discovered later in the gradual uncovering of my psyche, but it happened to all of the girls there, and eventually, one of the other girls living in the house and l gathered up our courage and told our parents. They believed us, fortunately, and Jim and his wife Sue (who had been with the organization for more than twenty five years) were kicked out of the building and the Institute of Cultural Affairs. It may not have been so severe, but l apparently was traumatized enough to block it out until l was thirteen and developing an interest in boys.
It was a big issue for me for a while. But before too long, between talking to my parents and doing some good thinking of my own, I came to the conclusion that all men were most definitely NOT like him, and that it was okay to trust some of them here and there. I got over it and got on with my life, though on some level, I never quite forgave him, not for doing that to me, but for doing it to any child. Shortly after moving to Seattle, I happened to catch up with an old boyfriend whose parents were also in ICA and long time friends with my parents. We decided to attend an ICA reunion, though it was pretty much being held for the generation before us, so we were on the younger end of the scale. On the second night, we were all sitting around, discussing our experiences growing up in the lnstitute, the good, bad and ugly, and whaddya know, Jim Oberg’s name comes up. It turns out that in his entire time in the Institute, he’d been molesting young girls. There were three women at the reunion who were in their mid to late thirties who’d lived with him in ICA houses and had the same experience. None of us knew the others had experienced this, so it came as quite a shock, and after everyone broke up into groups and went their separate ways, the four of us got together and talked.
I think we were all so outraged at not being the only ones (and I already knew there’d been at least one other) that we decided to take him to court. We knew where he lived (Oregon, in some seniors community), and we all had plenty of evidence. As time went by, however, we realized that, aside from the fact that the statute of limitations was long gone, we’d all been in foreign countries when it had happened. And personally, for me, I sort of gave up because I simply decided it had been too long and l just didn’t want to give him any more of my energy. Part of me was like, eh, he’s in an old folks’ home too (though l’ll be honest, part of me really wanted to stick it to him just because he was an old fuck and was probably gloating over having ‘gotten away with it’), so I just gave the whole thing up and made peace with the matter. Haven’t thought about it since.
Until today.
Today, I was a whirlwind of cleaning power. My place has gathered SO much junk over the last four years that l decided it was high fucking time l get started on my spring cleaning early and clear out some closet space. Since I’m a hopeless packrat, throwing stuff out is always a torturous and sweetly nostalgic experience. It also takes forfuckingever because I get sidetracked reminiscing. Among the boxes I went through, I have several that are full of a bunch of my mom’s stuff I’m holding for her, along with baby clothes, books, and various other throwbacks to my childhood. It was SO fun going through that stuff, and I was super grateful that my mom kept certain things. In one of the boxes, I ran across some really great artwork. My whole apartment is FULL of artwork, I mean to the point of almost being too much, but I was like, fuck that, I’m finding room for this shit. So I rearranged some stuff, took a couple of things down, changed out some frames, and put it up. One of the last pieces I couldn’t quite find a place for, but I *really* liked it. It’s this sort of abstract landscape of what *could* be a funky futuristic city, but really is a bunch of funky looking rocks (my guess anyway). Anyway, it had this great little red matte on it, and I just had to find a place for it. I finally decided I’d put it on my door. When I flipped it over to put double sided tape on it, there was writing on the back. I read the first couple of lines, skipped down to who had written it, and…you guessed it. Jim and Sue. It was a wedding gift to my parents from them, which was surreal enough in itself. The whole thing was sort of surreal, honestly. (If you listen to me talk enough, you’ll realize that ICA people, and the kids that grew up in the organization, never really fall out of touch – even if we’re no longer affiliated with it, we manage to run across each other everywhere, at the oddest times, in the oddest circumstances. After I moved to Seattle, I ended up renting a room to the girl in Brussels who went with me to tell our parents. ICA is full of coincidental moments that aren’t really all that coincidental at all. But I digress.)
So then I read the whole thing. It said:
“Darkness seems to be multiplying. Nevertheless, the light still shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never put it out.
We send you into married life to be the light in the multiplying darkness of man, remembering that what is meant by happiness is to live every unhappiness and to be the light is to gaze with undimmed eyes on all darkness.”
I don’t think I have to point out the irony here. But here’s the weird thing. It’s TRUE. It’s true for me in every single fucking regard to Jim Oberg. I could have let that man ruin my life. And you know, I’m not sure anyone would have blamed me. I know I wouldn’t blame *any* victim of pedophilia of being severely fucked up as a result. I blocked him out for almost five years. I don’t know why I chose to not let that experience dominate my every relationship from there on out. Though I do admit that it stunted my emotional development for a while once it all came back, I can’t honestly tell you why I chose to not let it run my life. I cannot tell you why, once I found out where he lived, I didn’t catch a train down there, knock on his door, and give him a good kick upside the head. And trust me, I wanted to. In the end, I realized that to give him any more of my time or energy was, simply, giving up MY power, MY strength, MY Self. None of which he has, really. And you know, when it came down to that realization, I just felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for this old man in his retirement community, playing backgammon and bridge and holding this secret, and knowing, on some level, that his life was truly and utterly pathetic. I can’t honestly say that if I ran across the man on the street, I wouldn’t knock him flat for the number of lives and years of therapy he’s put so many through. But at this point, I’m just sorry that he’s got nothing to show for his life; a wife who knew he was ill, and did nothing about it – in fact, stayed with him and who knows if she ever took him to task for it? – an endless craving for young girls that he may or may not understand, but on *some* level, must know it’s wrong, a livelihood lost as a result, and a death that, when it mercifully comes, will hold more regrets than any human being should have to die with.
I have very few regrets in my life. I have incredible parents. I have been around the world and seen more than most Americans my age ever have or will. I have been blessed, for whatever reason, with a determination to make the best of the very worst circumstances, and to see light when all anyone else saw was endless dark. Some call me idealistic. Some call me foolish. But you know, it all comes full circle. And here I sit, contemplating this piece of art I like so much and the words on the back, and I think to myself that I *have* conquered the darkness this man brought to my life, and I did it all on my own. I don’t know how, I don’t know why…all I know was that the darkness was not where I was meant to be. I’m deeply grateful for that.
I hang the picture on my bedroom door.
I light some sage, cleanse the picture, then my room.
Bring forth light, all ye who enter here, I say. And I smile.
It was a big issue for me for a while. But before too long, between talking to my parents and doing some good thinking of my own, I came to the conclusion that all men were most definitely NOT like him, and that it was okay to trust some of them here and there. I got over it and got on with my life, though on some level, I never quite forgave him, not for doing that to me, but for doing it to any child. Shortly after moving to Seattle, I happened to catch up with an old boyfriend whose parents were also in ICA and long time friends with my parents. We decided to attend an ICA reunion, though it was pretty much being held for the generation before us, so we were on the younger end of the scale. On the second night, we were all sitting around, discussing our experiences growing up in the lnstitute, the good, bad and ugly, and whaddya know, Jim Oberg’s name comes up. It turns out that in his entire time in the Institute, he’d been molesting young girls. There were three women at the reunion who were in their mid to late thirties who’d lived with him in ICA houses and had the same experience. None of us knew the others had experienced this, so it came as quite a shock, and after everyone broke up into groups and went their separate ways, the four of us got together and talked.
I think we were all so outraged at not being the only ones (and I already knew there’d been at least one other) that we decided to take him to court. We knew where he lived (Oregon, in some seniors community), and we all had plenty of evidence. As time went by, however, we realized that, aside from the fact that the statute of limitations was long gone, we’d all been in foreign countries when it had happened. And personally, for me, I sort of gave up because I simply decided it had been too long and l just didn’t want to give him any more of my energy. Part of me was like, eh, he’s in an old folks’ home too (though l’ll be honest, part of me really wanted to stick it to him just because he was an old fuck and was probably gloating over having ‘gotten away with it’), so I just gave the whole thing up and made peace with the matter. Haven’t thought about it since.
Until today.
Today, I was a whirlwind of cleaning power. My place has gathered SO much junk over the last four years that l decided it was high fucking time l get started on my spring cleaning early and clear out some closet space. Since I’m a hopeless packrat, throwing stuff out is always a torturous and sweetly nostalgic experience. It also takes forfuckingever because I get sidetracked reminiscing. Among the boxes I went through, I have several that are full of a bunch of my mom’s stuff I’m holding for her, along with baby clothes, books, and various other throwbacks to my childhood. It was SO fun going through that stuff, and I was super grateful that my mom kept certain things. In one of the boxes, I ran across some really great artwork. My whole apartment is FULL of artwork, I mean to the point of almost being too much, but I was like, fuck that, I’m finding room for this shit. So I rearranged some stuff, took a couple of things down, changed out some frames, and put it up. One of the last pieces I couldn’t quite find a place for, but I *really* liked it. It’s this sort of abstract landscape of what *could* be a funky futuristic city, but really is a bunch of funky looking rocks (my guess anyway). Anyway, it had this great little red matte on it, and I just had to find a place for it. I finally decided I’d put it on my door. When I flipped it over to put double sided tape on it, there was writing on the back. I read the first couple of lines, skipped down to who had written it, and…you guessed it. Jim and Sue. It was a wedding gift to my parents from them, which was surreal enough in itself. The whole thing was sort of surreal, honestly. (If you listen to me talk enough, you’ll realize that ICA people, and the kids that grew up in the organization, never really fall out of touch – even if we’re no longer affiliated with it, we manage to run across each other everywhere, at the oddest times, in the oddest circumstances. After I moved to Seattle, I ended up renting a room to the girl in Brussels who went with me to tell our parents. ICA is full of coincidental moments that aren’t really all that coincidental at all. But I digress.)
So then I read the whole thing. It said:
“Darkness seems to be multiplying. Nevertheless, the light still shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never put it out.
We send you into married life to be the light in the multiplying darkness of man, remembering that what is meant by happiness is to live every unhappiness and to be the light is to gaze with undimmed eyes on all darkness.”
I don’t think I have to point out the irony here. But here’s the weird thing. It’s TRUE. It’s true for me in every single fucking regard to Jim Oberg. I could have let that man ruin my life. And you know, I’m not sure anyone would have blamed me. I know I wouldn’t blame *any* victim of pedophilia of being severely fucked up as a result. I blocked him out for almost five years. I don’t know why I chose to not let that experience dominate my every relationship from there on out. Though I do admit that it stunted my emotional development for a while once it all came back, I can’t honestly tell you why I chose to not let it run my life. I cannot tell you why, once I found out where he lived, I didn’t catch a train down there, knock on his door, and give him a good kick upside the head. And trust me, I wanted to. In the end, I realized that to give him any more of my time or energy was, simply, giving up MY power, MY strength, MY Self. None of which he has, really. And you know, when it came down to that realization, I just felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for this old man in his retirement community, playing backgammon and bridge and holding this secret, and knowing, on some level, that his life was truly and utterly pathetic. I can’t honestly say that if I ran across the man on the street, I wouldn’t knock him flat for the number of lives and years of therapy he’s put so many through. But at this point, I’m just sorry that he’s got nothing to show for his life; a wife who knew he was ill, and did nothing about it – in fact, stayed with him and who knows if she ever took him to task for it? – an endless craving for young girls that he may or may not understand, but on *some* level, must know it’s wrong, a livelihood lost as a result, and a death that, when it mercifully comes, will hold more regrets than any human being should have to die with.
I have very few regrets in my life. I have incredible parents. I have been around the world and seen more than most Americans my age ever have or will. I have been blessed, for whatever reason, with a determination to make the best of the very worst circumstances, and to see light when all anyone else saw was endless dark. Some call me idealistic. Some call me foolish. But you know, it all comes full circle. And here I sit, contemplating this piece of art I like so much and the words on the back, and I think to myself that I *have* conquered the darkness this man brought to my life, and I did it all on my own. I don’t know how, I don’t know why…all I know was that the darkness was not where I was meant to be. I’m deeply grateful for that.
I hang the picture on my bedroom door.
I light some sage, cleanse the picture, then my room.
Bring forth light, all ye who enter here, I say. And I smile.
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